


what or who are your songs about?

by handholding (hoesthetic)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, Rock Band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoesthetic/pseuds/handholding
Summary: wonwoo knows these things hurt.





	what or who are your songs about?

**Author's Note:**

> everything is lowkey & ambiguous & im just trying to get rid of a writers block, again. p pointless fellas.

 

the tattooed heart on wonwoo’s middle finger is faded and patchy. it’s how these things work, the prints over his hands, the text written across it in blocky letters, _nothing’s gonna hurt you baby,_ is going to fade soon enough as well, end up as ugly and uneven.

 _let’s end this. let’s end this._ wonwoo mouths it, letting his stare drop from the backs of his hands to the dirty floor. it’s awfully melodramatic, he thinks, dragging the tip of his tongue over the cracks of his lower lip.

let’s end this, wonwoo thinks, pushing himself back to fall on the mattress. a few months ago there was a flooding on the apartment above his and it left behind dark splotches to the corners of his ceiling, dirty but weak-looking. like it could break, like it will break.

he doesn’t bother looking away from the ceiling, doesn’t stop measuring the edges and ends of it, when he hears the door creak open. wonwoo had been expecting it, of course, for mingyu to walk into the small bedroom and sit beside him. it’s exactly what he does, wonwoo can tell that by the quiet yet oddly clumsy steps of his, pounding against the carpet free flooring.

the way mingyu breathes is annoying. scratchy, loud, he should quit smoking—wonwoo knows mingyu doesn’t even like it and only does it to appear cool and likable. he doesn’t blame him. wonwoo also knows that mingyu’s breathing gets heavier when he is nervous. is he nervous?

the bed makes an obnoxious sound when mingyu sits down. wonwoo lifts his arms and wraps them around his own bare torso, shirtless but never vulnerable, never bare in that sense.

“hyung?” mingyu speaks, voice somewhat hoarse. it’s quiet, too, like he is afraid wonwoo will flinch away, or maybe get angry, or break. like he is afraid of something and he, evidently, probably is, and it’s just not like it. wonwoo licks his lower lip again, warm spit, stare immovable from the roof.

“mm,” wonwoo makes a muffled sound of acknowledgement, letting his eyelids close. he feels mingyu lower his hand on the bare of wonwoo’s stomach, just above his hipbones. it’s a familiar weight but in all honesty, he isn’t sure what it means.

“are we okay?” he asks, carefully. wonwoo cracks his other eye open to glance at mingyu. he is looking at him, as expected, eyes heavy, breathing like a pile of rocks. wonwoo can’t tell him to stop breathing. that means other things. that means unsaid, insufferable things.

are they okay, is what mingyu is asking him, clearly, obviously. the corners of wonwoo’s mouth tug upwards, a small smile on his lips, although it’s sort of bitter. bittersweet would probably be a good word for it, just like blood tastes rather sweet.

“why wouldn’t we be?” he asks back, opening his eyes. mingyu’s eyes look round despite their sharp shape, and troubled. he chuckles nervously before shaking his head, dismissing it.

wonwoo knows what he is talking about but he can act stupid. mingyu is leaving not the country, not even the city, but he is still leaving, permanently. wonwoo isn’t sure what he expected, for their cheap ass punk band to last forever? no, not really. perhaps it’s just about how it’s just mingyu, not all of them walking to their individual directions, but just him.

it makes wonwoo laugh quietly, a choked sound. _let’s end this,_ fucking around, whatever they are doing, _let’s end this,_ and wonwoo doesn’t have to act stupid. mingyu looks at him with furrowed brows, almost alarmed, nervous.

“what got your knickers in a twist?” wonwoo laughs shortly, and in his own his ear it doesn't sound pained.

mingyu wets his lips before laughing and shaking his head, as if to answer _nothing._ mingyu shouldn’t look so soft, so gentle, with his brow pierced, clothes ripped. at least there isn’t eyeliner smudging his lids. wonwoo likes him like this, bare, vulnerable. he is an open book to read and wonwoo has always liked reading.

mingyu’s face looks so hesitant, like he wants to say something. he is biting his lower lip as if it will help to stop the words from spilling from his lips like liquid, nibbling anxiously. wonwoo sighs.

“really,” he says, “we are okay. don’t worry about it, yeah?”

mingyu doesn’t believe him. it’s easy to see. wonwoo pushes himself up, supporting his weight with his palms pressed against the mattress. he doesn’t say anything as he leans in to press a kiss on mingyu’s lips. he doesn’t taste like anything.

the truth is, wonwoo is angry. he is sad, he is upset, he is disappointed, and even though all of it is technically mingyu’s fault, he can’t find himself channelling those emotions towards him. he can’t. it’s the blooming irony of it all, he can channel it by writing shitty lyrics and giving them for seokmin to yell aloud while wonwoo hurts the tips of his fingers by pulling the guitar strings too hard.

mingyu moves his hand to the back of wonwoo’s neck, holding him so awfully gently it fucking hurts. love only hurts, even if wonwoo doesn’t love him. since love is all about sacrificises, undying adoration and confessions with tears in one’s eyes. he doesn’t have that.

 _let’s end this or let’s strip bare, utterly naked from all of these feelings, all of this, i don’t want it anymore._ something along of those lines, because wonwoo finds it a tad bit harder to think when mingyu’s teeth scratch against his lip.

kissing is just lips against lips, tongue, saliva, teeth, calming or distressing mouth sounds. wonwoo knows how these things work. something is twisting in his stomach, grossly, repulsively, and he doesn’t know how to suppress it. so wonwoo lets it be. these things, tattoos, love, weird stomach pains, they hurt. wonwoo knows these things hurt.

and as mingyu moves his lips from his to the sharp bone of his jaw and below it, running his palms over wonwoo’s bare stomach, chest, passes his ribcage, wonwoo pretends they don’t. mingyu’s fingertips dip into the hollows of his rib bones. it doesn’t mean anything.

it’s not that he is leaving, the thing that hurts. oh, no, no, no… but the only way wonwoo will ever talk about it is that he doesn’t, he won’t.

and then, there’s a boy, a man, between his legs he adores, but wonwoo will never tell him. if mingyu knows, then he does, and a part of him is convinced that he indeed does. his palms look big splayed across his thighs. then, another part of him wants mingyu to ruin him, open him up and twist him around.

but mingyu, still, is soft. even now, looking up at him like that. like this, like that, and wonwoo’s breath stutters. something is pulling him back, or maybe it’s mingyu, but he genuinely doubts that. it seems like it’s him who is always at fault. or alternatively, unfortunate situations, bad timings, and no one to blame.

 _let’s end this,_ and that’s the reason wonwoo lowers his hand to stop mingyu from pulling down his zipper.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/minsgsol)


End file.
